


Moonlight on Clover

by Evandar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, Animal Transformation, Bestiality, M/M, animal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 12:31:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1428625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evandar/pseuds/Evandar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A four-leafed clover, under the light of a full moon, is a powerful love-charm. Too bad Padfoot and Moony didn’t know that before they went rolling around in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlight on Clover

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for HP_GetLucky on LJ, for Prompt 46: _Padfoot and Moony frolic and roll around in a field of four-leaf clovers under a full moon. What started out as two friends turns into something else as they both get lucky. Now they can't control the change or their desire for each other._

There was a breeze in the air, bringing with it the scents of rabbit and loam. If Padfoot concentrated, he sometimes thought he could smell the grassy lightness of the unicorns and centaurs or the almost nutty smell of the acromantula colony. He thought he could smell the wards too, heavy and electric in the air, but they weren’t really as important as the promise of rabbit.

Or, for that matter, as important as the werewolf who was snuffling round in the undergrowth trying to find a fresh track.

It was…nice, just the two of them. Prongs and Wormtail had got a weekend’s worth of detention that Sirius had _somehow_ managed to avoid – he had to get lucky sometimes, right? – and that had left full moon duty to him. And it was _fun_. Him and Moony, the two predators of the group, out together in the forest. They could run and hunt and play and not have to worry about Prongs suddenly looking tasty or stepping on Wormtail.

He stretched and yawned and trotted to Moony’s side, nosing along the werewolf’s flank and holding still when Moony lifted his head to press his nose into Padfoot’s fur. There was a rumbling, playful growl, and Padfoot yipped, his tail wagging – Moony was happy too.

…

They feasted on rabbits in a small clearing deep in the woods. The forest was very different as a dog, Padfoot thought as he abandoned the remains of his meal. As a wizard it was dark and intimidating and almost suffocating once you got past the edge and ventured further in; as a dog, however, it was bright – his colour-vision was crap, but shapes and shadows were a lot clearer – and full of opportunity. This clearing, for example; for all his Gryffindor bravery, he never would have come this far in his human form, but now that he had he could see strands of unicorn hair glimmering on low branches and he could smell fragrant grass and clover in the air and it was beautiful. In places like this, even the moonlight had a smell, and it seemed to Padfoot that it smelled of magic.

He stretched out and wiggled, feeling that soft, fragrant grass catch and tangle in his fur. He’d be a mess in the morning, but who cared? It was a weekend and he was free and Moony was watching him with bright, glowing eyes. He rolled onto his back and wiggled like that. Bliss. The life of a dog was truly far preferable to that of a wizard.

A cool nose touched his throat and he stopped moving, holding very still as Moony hovered over him. When the nose withdrew, Padfoot rolled onto his side and looked up at his friend – packmate – and pricked his ears. Werewolves were far too dignified, in his opinion.

Attractive, though, in a scary sort of way. Moony was huge and by the size of his paws, he would only get bigger. His tawny-grey fur was thick over his muscular frame and his teeth and claws were long and sharp and made for ripping things apart. He wasn’t at all like Remus, who was soft and sweet and bookish and completely adorable; Moony was tough. He was alpha. He…well. He could still have fun if Padfoot teased him enough.

He shifted himself into a low crouch and fixed his gaze on Moony’s flank. It would be like running into a wall, he knew, but it would get Moony to loosen up again instead of just standing there or prowling round the clearing like he had done since his own rabbit had been finished. Padfoot knew he’d lose a fight, but a quick scuffle meant in play – and Moony would never hurt him, he was _pack_ \- would be fine. He pounced.

Moony had been looking the other way, but the feel of Padfoot hitting his side made him wheel around and snap. Padfoot, for all he was a large dog – and again, still growing; his paws were like soup plates – was small and agile compared to Moony and managed to dance out of the way of his jaws before they could close on him. He crouched, wagging his tail and offering a wide, doggy grin complete with lolling tongue. Moony snorted and batted at him with a paw. Padfoot dodged and that was all it took.

The tussle was brief and energetic and ended with Padfoot pinned beneath Moony’s bulk, sharp teeth holding him firmly in place by his scruff and hot breath ruffling his fur as Moony panted against him. It was…good. And maybe Sirius was a bit of a pervert for thinking it, but it was very, very good to be held down like this; to have Moony breathless on top of him. He whined softly and shifted his tail to the side, wondering if Moony would take the hint.

There was a pause before Moony released him and stepped back. Padfoot whined, flattening his ears to his skull, and looked up at Moony sadly. This would be really, really awkward to explain to Remus in the morning if he remembered. Moony shook himself and eyed Padfoot critically before huffing and returning to nudge Padfoot with his snout until the animagus was standing. Then he circled round him, nipping lightly at Padfoot’s flanks and brushing their bodies together.

Padfoot twisted round to nip back, and he realised that he could smell the strong musk of arousal in Moony’s fur. It made his belly quiver and his knees weaken slightly. He shifted on his paws, trying to stay standing, and received a sharp nip to the base of his tail and a warning growl for his trouble. He’d never been turned on in dog form before and it was weird – he could feel his cock slipping free of its sheath – but it was far too late to back out even if he’d wanted to. Moony was behind him now, and Padfoot willingly held his tail to the side as he was mounted.

It took a few experimental thrusts before the tip of Moony’s cock found his arse, and Padfoot yelped in pain as he was suddenly filled. Jaws closed on the back of his neck, holding him in place as the werewolf thrust in fast and deep, and Padfoot whined when he felt Moony’s knot begin to swell. It hurt – it definitely hadn’t been as fun as he’d imagined late at night with his bed curtains closed and the sound of Remus’ gentle breathing coming from the next bed – and he could smell his own blood, even over Moony’s arousal and the scent of clover. But as Moony went still, Padfoot found himself beginning to relax again. He _had_ wanted this, and it felt good to be filled; better than anything he’d managed with his fingers and definitely bigger. He could feel Moony all around him as well as inside of him, and the werewolf was hot and heavy on his back. He wiggled his hips a little and nudged backwards, earning another soft growl against his neck that sent shivers down his spine, and he felt the first wave of Moony’s orgasm fill him.

He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but when Moony released him, Padfoot couldn’t stop himself from flopping down onto the fragrant grass, his body sore and aching. Moony stood over him and licked his ears with surprising tenderness. Padfoot licked back – the closest thing to a kiss he could manage – before he curled up and, covering his nose with his tail, fell asleep.

…

He woke just before dawn, disturbed by the sounds of birds stirring in the trees. Moony was next to him, curled around him protectively, and it was only when Padfoot stood that he remembered why. _Fuck_ he thought as a yelp of pain escaped him. _Thank heaven for cushioning charms._ He stretched as best as he could and turned to wake Moony only to find himself already being watched. He pricked his ears and barked, tilting his head towards the edge of the forest and the path back to the shack. Moony would have to be back by dawn to transform so that Madame Pomfrey wouldn’t get suspicious and, Padfoot suspected, Moony knew it.

The werewolf yawned and stood and nuzzled Padfoot gently in greeting. Padfoot licked him back before turning and leading the way out of the clearing. Moony followed – he was always calmer in the mornings – and soon they were sneaking down past the Whomping Willow and into the shack where Moony curled up next to the shredded remains of his clothes and lowered his head down onto his paws. He knew what was coming. Padfoot stepped closer to give him a last, lingering nuzzle before backing away and snatching up the silvery folds of James’ invisibility cloak in his jaws. He’d hidden it in its usual spot – tucked away behind an old, battered, and surprisingly resilient dresser – when he’d arrived. It wasn’t as if James needed it to scrub trophies for Filch, or anything.

He dropped down, back into the tunnel and transformed. There was a snarl from the shack and the scraping of claws on wood and Sirius yanked the trapdoor closed. There was a brief scrabbling noise above him and another growl, and then silence. He sighed. _Poor Moony_. 

He threw the cloak on, pulling it up over his head, and turned to walk away only to gasp in pain and stagger. He threw out a hand to balance himself on the dirt wall and grit his teeth to stop himself from crying out as pain shot up his spine from his backside. Walking had been uncomfortable in his animagus form; now it would be agonising. _Damn it_. What had even possessed him to…

He inched his way down the tunnel, back towards the Willow. Every step brought a fresh wave of pain and he knew for a fact that it would probably be the _next_ full moon before he had to stop casting cushioning charms everywhere. There was something warm and wet slipping down the inside of his leg and he found himself desperately longing for a hot shower and a soft bed. The shower he’d get, the bed? Not so much. There had been some sort of magic in the air last night and Sirius wanted to know what it was – enough to go to the library on a Saturday, at least. 

If he had answers, he might be able to look Remus in the eye at some point.

It was embarrassing, really. He’d developed a crush on Remus Lupin at some point in third year when he’d decided that he really, _really_ liked the colour of Remus’ eyes and the way he frowned at his homework and the way his Welsh accent grew stronger when he was angry. After seeing Moony for the first time, well, he’d been in his animagus form at the time, so maybe it was a dog thing, but he’d found the werewolf attractive as well. He just hadn’t pictured them getting together this way. 

If Remus could remember. If he wanted it as much as a human as he did as a wolf. If – oh _hell_ \- he ever got over the fact that Sirius had presented himself like a bitch in heat and started the whole thing in the first place. Sirius wasn’t entirely sure that _he’d_ ever get over it, let alone Remus.

 _Does it count as bestiality if I was a dog when I let the werewolf fuck me?_ He shook his head and took a deep breath and sprinted past the waving branches of the Willow. He barely made it out of whomping range before the pain in his arse drove him to his knees, tears spilling from his eyes and his breath coming in pants and gasps. _Note to self,_ he thought, _werewolves aren’t exactly gentle lovers._

…

Sirius slammed the book shut harder than strictly necessary and rested his forehead on the cover, ignoring the glare Madame Pince was no doubt sending his way. He’d been studying all morning, avoiding his friends and the Infirmary where Remus was now resting, determined to figure out what the hell had got into him last night. He wouldn’t have acted like that of his own accord. He knew that. And yet, it hadn’t been any form of mind-control either – Sirius was a Black; he knew what the Imperius felt like – and that had left him baffled.

He’d found his answer, though, in a bloody _Herbology_ book of all things.

“Padfoot?”

He groaned and lifted his head slightly so that it was his chin resting on the book instead. Remus was standing over him, looking pale and concerned. Scratch that, he looked like he was panicking – his hands were shaking even as he folded up the Marauder’s Map. Sirius sat up properly, wincing slightly at the resultant throbbing in his spine. He saw Remus’ eyes widen, saw him flinch back, and he reached out his hand to grab him before he could bolt.

There was a tingling warmth of magic where his fingers curled around Remus’ wrist, but he barely even noticed it. Remus _remembered_.

“Sirius,” Remus said. His voice cracked a little and Sirius wondered if he should let go and let Remus run away from this and move on with his life and forget. It would probably be better for them both in the long run, but…no. He couldn’t. He was too selfish for that. “Sirius, why do you smell like –“

“Sex?” Sirius finished for him. He’d showered and healed himself as best he could in the dorm while James and Peter were still snoring off their detention, but nothing got past Remus’ nose. They’d all learned that the hard way, and as a result they were probably the tidiest and cleanest teenage boys in the whole of Hogwarts.

“Mate,” Remus corrected. He looked down at Sirius’ hand, still gripping him tight, and Sirius gave him a little tug.

“What do you remember about last night?” he asked.

As it turned out, not much. Remus had vague recollections of moonlight and fragrant air and Padfoot’s warmth beneath him. He remembered Padfoot pressing back onto his cock during their mating and he remembered them curling up together afterwards, exchanging tender licks and nuzzles.

“It was the clover,” Sirius told him, rubbing his thumb over Remus’ knuckles. “That’s what you could smell. It was all over that clearing and we were both rolling around in it.”

He flipped the Herbology book open to the correct page and pushed it across. Remus would probably take it better from an official source. Probably. Hopefully. He watched as Remus used his free hand to pull the book a little closer and started to read. Almost immediately, that little crease of concentration appeared between his brows and Sirius had to look away before he gave into the temptation to lick it away.

He didn’t want to perve on Remus before he got a reaction. As it was, he was far too happy about being able to sit here with Remus’ hand in his own. It should have been far, far more awkward than it was; they just fit together like this. _I’m going soft_ , he thought, and he honestly didn’t think he cared. Remus was gorgeous, even when he was all pale and sickly looking ; he was all lean lines and hidden strength and brilliance, and _damn it_ if Sirius couldn’t have him again then he’d be miserable forever.

Eventually, Remus pushed the book away with a muttered curse. Then Sirius found himself on the receiving end of a speculative look, as if Remus was trying to figure him out somehow.

“A four-leafed clover is, when under the light of the full moon, one of the most powerful love-charms in the world,” Remus quoted. “It only works on couples who are already in love, but who have – for whatever reason – neglected to consummate their relationship, by stripping away their inhibitions and allowing them to act honestly with one another.”

“Did you really just memorise that?” Sirius asked him.

“Sirius. This is permanent.”

Remus’ expression was easier to read than the book had been. Sirius grinned at him and leaned in, going slow so that Remus could back out if he wanted to. He didn’t. Remus’ fingers tightened around his own and Sirius could feel him shaking, but his lips were soft and chapped and he tasted very faintly of toothpaste and bacon.

“I guess we just got lucky,” Sirius told him when he pulled back slightly. He wanted more. He had the stupidest urge to slip to his knees under the table and find out if Remus’ cock tasted as good as his lips. He wanted to feel Remus’ fingers tangle in his hair and press him down until he was gagging on it. Unfortunately, Madame Pince was, while not exactly watching them, hovering nearby (she always did when there was more than one Marauder about) and the last thing he wanted was to have a detention when he could be having Remus instead.

He was irresistible. _Bloody clover_ , he thought, but he kissed back when Remus pulled him in again, and he tipped his head to the side so that Remus could kiss a trail down his throat and graze his sharp teeth over Sirius’ pulse. He bit back a moan and raised his free hand to cradle the back of Remus’ head, holding him in place.

He felt it more than he heard it when Remus laughed, soft gusts of warm breath sending shivers down his spine. It was a similar kind of noise to the growl Moony made when he was happy – so deep that he could feel it in his belly.

“I guess we did,” Remus replied before he bit down gently and began to suck a hickey onto the side of Sirius’ neck, just above his shirt collar. The mark would be visible, but Sirius didn’t care. This was Remus. His Remus. All the gossips who would undoubtedly whisper about it could go and fuck themselves as far as he was concerned. He had his Remus – his mate, Remus had said before – and that meant he was the luckiest bloke in the world.

Now, if only this newfound luck of theirs would point them towards some decent lube then they could get a whole lot luckier.


End file.
